Enough
by DLHKM
Summary: Arthur stares at him, "So you're telling me that I'm King Arthur, and you're Merlin, my wizard friend?" "Warlock would be a better way to describe me." Merlin corrects him with a smile. Merthur. Spoilers up to 5x13.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.  
**

* * *

**Woodstock**

Arthur stares at him, "So you're telling me that I'm King Arthur, and you're Merlin, my wizard friend?"

"Warlock would be a better way to describe me." Merlin corrects him with a smile, trying not to seem _too_ terribly excited to see Arthur. Things don't start off smoothly when he can't contain his enthusiasm. "But, yes."

Arthur's newest incarnation studies him for a moment before grinning widely. He meets Merlin's eyes and breathes, "Brilliant."

Merlin furrows his brows. Was eye contact enough this time? Was it all Arthur needed for his memories to return? It usually takes months, if not years, for Arthur to remember Camelot.

His thought process falls apart as Arthur begins to undress.

Merlin tries to pry his eyes from Arthur's sun-kissed skin, "What are you doing, Arthur?"

Arthur sinks into his bean bag, now shirtless. His eyes dance over Merlin's form almost hungrily, "What do you think I'm doing? We're gonna' shag, '_Mer-_lin'."

'_He doesn't believe me.' _Merlin realizes, _'He thinks I'm trying to have sex with him.'_

Merlin wets his lips nervously, wanting so badly to give in-especially after the (_achingly_ familiar) way Arthur said his name-but knowing that he can't. Arthur is high, and Merlin knows that forming a relationship with him will be doubly hard if he goes through with this.

He would laugh at the fact that Arthur, _King_ Arthur, is a pothead, but he's having difficulty doing much of anything with Arthur looking at him like that.

When he's choked down the lump in his throat, Merlin casts a sleeping spell and drapes a blanket over Arthur. He brushes strands of gold away from Arthur's face, knowing that their old song and dance will restart in the morning. He'll have to burrow his way into Arthur's life, and then the hard part: he'll have to make Arthur fall in love with him.

Only then will Arthur remember his true identity.

But he's done it before, and Arthur's initial reaction suggests that this incarnation is less averse to letting his guard down.

(Merlin blushes a bit, resisting the urge to take one last look at Arthur's smooth skin.)

Merlin drops a kiss on Arthur's brow, settling down a respectable distance away from him and muttering a perception-altering spell, designed to keep people from noticing Arthur's tent. He closes his eyes, content that Arthur is safe, and cannot resist the urge to chuckle.

King Arthur: pothead.

* * *

**Cheers**

"Are you out of your _fucking_ mind?"

Merlin reels back, his cheek throbbing from the force of the blow. This Arthur is drunk, and Merlin is drunk, and a drunk Merlin is an affectionate Merlin. If he were sober, he never would have thrown himself at Arthur. Arthur's glower and the set of empty glasses beside him indicate that he's trying to drown his sorrows. Arthur responds to pain by becoming angry, and Merlin would have known better, were he in a right state of mind.

But he isn't.

Arthur hadn't responded well to Merlin draping his arms around his neck and covering him in kisses. In fact, he had gone so far as to punch Merlin in the face.

When the effects of his excessive drinking wear off, Merlin is going to kick himself for this. He's going to curse himself for being so foolish, and then he's going to seek out Arthur, because Arthur needs him, whether he likes it or not.

That faraway look in Arthur's eyes can only mean one thing: Uther has just died.

And Arthur needs Merlin to pick up the pieces.

* * *

**The Boy**

The worst thing about Arthur coming back is that Merlin knows that he'll lose him again.

This Arthur is barely seventeen when they meet, and already he's thinking of war. He speaks with conviction of fighting the Germans, of defeating Hitler, and Merlin knows that this is how his king will go.

He's so young, _too_ young.

It infuriates him. The anger wells up within him, consuming him.

He reaches breaking point a week before Arthur's eighteenth birthday.

Merlin is smashing things, and screaming, and wondering why he has to endure such suffering. A few more months, and Arthur will be out of school, and then, he'll leave. He'll run off, and save lives, and then he'll _die _(_no, no, no, no, no, no, no_), and he'll never have remembered who he truly was.

Because he'll never have loved Merlin.

And now Merlin's crying, sobs wracking his body. He sets down the vial he had aimed to shatter, placing it on the table with a clank, and drops onto a stool. Getting angry won't save Arthur. Neither will crying, he realizes, but he can't help that.

"Merlin?"

He doesn't bother hiding his tears from Arthur. Footsteps, and then Arthur is in front of him, blue eyes filled with concern. Arthur reaches out for Merlin, hesitantly wiping his tears away. Merlin struggles not to lean into his touch; Arthur has feelings for him, but he's certainly not in love with him.

And Merlin will never have time to rectify that, not if Arthur leaves.

So, for the first time in a long time, he does something selfish: he asks Arthur to stay.

Arthur shakes his head, moving his hand away from Merlin's face, "You know I can't."

Merlin smiles brokenly, so in love with this valiant man, and wishes that he could tell him so. But he can't, because Arthur's not ready for that; if he were, he would remember his first life, remember all the lives he has lived.

He settles for an honest, "But I wish you would."

Arthur kisses him, for the first time, and Merlin's tears begin anew.

* * *

**Woodstock**

"Why the _hell_ are you still here?"

Merlin starts at the sound of Arthur's voice, looking up from his journal. Arthur is still prostrate, one eye cracked open and regarding Merlin's form cautiously. The effects of the pot have worn off, and Arthur seems to have regained some sense. Merlin wonders why he's here; he's never met an Arthur who did drugs, and wants to know what led him to it.

Merlin suspects that Gwaine had a hand in it.

He has been bracing himself for a meeting with a marijuana-smoking Gwaine for the past year, ever since he met Elena.

This Elena is an artist, and enjoys an occasional joint immensely, as smoking provides her with inspiration. Knowing how free-spirited Gwaine is, this Gwaine will be similar. Merlin had been waiting for Arthur, but he hadn't appeared. And neither had Gwaine, for that matter.

And then it happened.

A couple of weeks ago, Elena and Merlin heard about an upcoming music festival in the States. Sure, big names were performing, but Merlin didn't fancy being surrounded by people who lived off sex and drugs. He hadn't been at all interested in going, but Elena begged him, confessing that she felt as if she _needed_ to be there, and he _knew_.

Merlin knows, from past experience, that his friends only feel this intensely about traveling when someone else in their group is where they want to go. And since the only ones missing were Gwaine and Arthur, Elena must have been leading him to them.

(He hoped so, he really hoped so. More than anything.)

He was right, but he certainly didn't expect _Arthur_ to be partaking in the revelry. If anything, he had imagined Arthur would be the disapproving friend who got dragged into Gwaine's messes.

Merlin stuffs his journal in his pocket, "_Someone_ had to keep watch."

Arthur opens his eyes fully, and gives Merlin an unimpressed look, "How many times was I robbed?"

He fights down a smile (because this is _wondrous_), feigning offense, "I had it under control!"

Arthur sits up, pinching the bridge of his nose, and the familiarity of the gesture sends a pang of yearning through Merlin, "Of course you did." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and leveling Merlin with a searching gaze, "Really, why are you here?"

"Why are _you_?" Merlin retorts, "You don't seem like the type."

Arthur looks him over, and Merlin blushes, recalling the night before (_blue eyes, clouded with lust and promising _so _much_) , "Neither do you."

Merlin sighs, giving up an explanation as close to the truth as possible, "My friend Elena convinced me to come with her. I lost her in the crowd." Untrue: he stayed with her until she wandered off, a head of hair he identified as Gwaine's accompanying her. "I walked around for a bit, found you, and made sure you returned to your tent safely."

"Why would you do that?" Arthur asks, brows furrowed.

Merlin shrugs, not able to tell him that he couldn't abandon his one true love (Arthur would call him a girl for that), "I told you: you don't seem like the type."

Arthur nods slowly, finally relenting. He doesn't completely trust Merlin, but Merlin doesn't expect him to. Merlin's just glad that Arthur doesn't remember Merlin telling him the truth. He had hoped that the drugs had opened Arthur's mind to the point that he accepted his true identity, but they hadn't, so Merlin will have to go about things the usual way.

Arthur will remember everything with time.

"Arthur Pendragon." Arthur says after a moment, extending a hand towards Merlin, "I suppose I should thank you."

Merlin accepts his hand, shaking it once, "Merlin Emrys." He grins cheekily, "I suppose you should."

Arthur rolls his eyes, and Merlin knows their 'first' meeting has gone well.

Now he just has to find Gwaine and Elena.

He grimaces at the thought, knowing how slim the chances of them being clothed when he finds them are.

* * *

**Cheers**

Merlin searches for Arthur for weeks after their initial encounter, praying that his drunken misstep hasn't pushed Arthur's awakening back. He knows Arthur, and Arthur would not react well if a stranger accosted him. Especially not so recently after his father's death.

His efforts are fruitless, and, after three weeks, Merlin is beginning to worry that he's lost his chance.

Until he runs into him again, at the same bar.

Arthur's sitting at the bar nursing an ale, just as he was before. His shoulders are hunched, weighed down by his father's death, and his gaze is fixed on his pint. Now that his senses aren't dulled by liquor, Merlin takes note of the pressed suit and the dress shoes.

Business man, then.

Over the years Arthur has been a lawyer, a blacksmith, a general in the army, a sailor, a baker, a common foot soldier, a knight. A few times he hasn't lived long enough to find work: executed for interfering in witch trials, stabbed behind enemy lines, hung for piracy...

Best not to think about it.

(_Best_ not to, but that doesn't stop him. Doesn't stop the nightmares, the stabbing pain in his chest whenever he remembers Arthur's deaths.)

Merlin slips onto the stool beside Arthur, maintaining a respectable distance so as not to further aggravate the situation. He orders a pint of his own and pretends to stare off into the distance, when what he's actually doing is observing Arthur through his peripheral vision. Arthur doesn't seem to notice him.

Merlin knows it's an act. He knows that Arthur is always aware of his surroundings and that he would never be drunk enough to forget an encounter of the kind he and Merlin had weeks ago. He knows that Arthur is pointedly avoiding his gaze and that he feels a bit uncomfortable, his shoulders tense.

"Hello." Merlin offers up a small smile, barely looking up from his pint. He wants Arthur to know that he feels remorse for his actions, which is why it's best to appear embarrassed and shy. Not to say that he's not remorseful-he should have had better control-he just isn't shy or embarrassed. Arthur is...something like his soul mate, and he's almost a thousand years old-he's past such nonsense.

"Hi." Arthur grunts, avoiding his eyes.

Merlin sighs, "I'm sorry I kissed you a couple weeks ago. I was drunk and..." He trails off, feeling himself flush a bit as Arthur raises a brow at him, "you're very good looking, so I suppose I just went for it?" So much for being past these things. "Not that I should have done what I did, I shouldn't have, it was stupid..." Arthur looks a bit amused, his lips quirking upwards, so at least there's that. Merlin smiles sheepishly, "I'll shut up now."

"You probably should." Arthur agrees. But he makes eye contact, so that's perfectly fine.

* * *

**The Boy**

Merlin spends his days waiting for the news.

It's difficult for him to imagine that Arthur will come home from the war. He never does. Every time Merlin waits, every time Merlin tells himself that he isn't waiting for Arthur to return, that he's come to terms with the fact that Arthur doesn't return to him when he goes to war. Every time Merlin allows the tiniest bit of hope to slip into his heart, to fool him into thinking that things will be different, that Arthur will come back to him, that he won't die _like he always does._

_Every time_ Merlin is wrong.

(And every time Merlin weeps.)

What did Arthur do to deserve this endless cycle of life and death, of sacrifice and memory loss and never living to a ripe old age? _This_ is the reward he's given for being such a great king? To be always at the beck and call of his people, who can't seem to stop going to war with others or tearing the country apart?

What did Merlin do to deserve this endless cycle of heartbreak, of constantly chasing after a man who always seems to elude him, a man he will never truly have?

And this Arthur was _so_ young.

(_Was _because Merlin is already thinking of him as a dead man, attempting to steel himself for the news, always different yet always the same.)

So young, and already off to die. Unaware of his identity, of his history (his long, _long_ history), of everything they've endured.

Merlin gets the news.

And Merlin weeps.

Then Merlin waits for the next Arthur, for the next cycle, for the next heartbreak.

Because, though there is hurt, though there is suffering, there is also love. His love for Arthur. Arthur's love for him. A love that spans the ages and has proven itself strong enough to unlock centuries of knowledge, dozens of lives lived and lost.

And it's enough for Merlin.

It has always been enough.

It will always be enough.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Until next time!  
**


End file.
